


That Bridge is on Fire

by orsohelpme



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Bitty's pies are born of stress in this fic my friends, Fights, First Meetings, Freshmen being clueless, Friendship, Grinding, Johnson is metaphysical and all-knowing as per usual, M/M, Mild Angst, Swearing, Vague innuendos in p much every sentence, guys being dudes, probable misuse of hockey terms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 21:10:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2787896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orsohelpme/pseuds/orsohelpme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Justin and Adam meet in a different way than Ransom and Holster do.</p>
<p>“You thinking what I’m thinking?”<br/>"Ill-advised COD all-nighter?”<br/>“Might as well get an early start on procrastinating for the rest of the semester, bro!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Bridge is on Fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [its_marchie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/its_marchie/gifts).



> My gift fic for its_marchie!!!
> 
> Marcie, I apologize HEAVILY in advance for the hockey language I've butchered.

Justin and Adam meet in an uneventful joining of assholes who happen to like Call of Duty and also happen to live on the same floor.

\----

Justin and Adam first meet the day they move into their freshman residence hall. Justin's parents had already left--promises to call and to do well in school and see-you-for-thanksgiving's had barely finished echoing off the empty white walls when there was a tentative knock at his door.

Figuring it was his mom wanting to wish her baby one last goodbye he strides over and opens the door with a half-joking "Need another hug?"

The person at the door is not his mother. He's torn between shock (that his mother was in fact able to leave the building without turning around again to sniffle about her "Baby being all grown up!!! Such a big man!!!!") and embarrassment because he totally just asked this random dude if he wanted a hug.

There's the blank look of confusion in the other's eyes for a moment before he recovers with just the tiniest upturn of his mouth. "I mean, I'm generally not one to turn down hugs but seeing as we just met, let's just stick to introductions for now."

Justin's embarrassment leaves his body in a rush of relief. Well almost--that is definitely a memory he will call up in the future. "And I'm generally not one to offer complete strangers hugs, but I thought you were my mom." Wow. Nice recovery. The embarrassment floods back and, nope, he is definitely not digging himself out of this hole anytime soon.

"Ah man, parents just drop you off?" Mystery man (dude's gotta have a name until he mentions his ACTUAL name) tucks his hands into his back pockets, and Justin takes a moment to appraise said mystery. Tall, pale, blue eyes, big shoulders, beat-up flannel and messy platinum hair...Kinda cute...cough cough cough.

Justin nods in response. "Literally just left."

Mystery man gives a tiny smile. "Little intimidating, isn't it? Mine dropped me off like four days early." He gives a chuckle reminiscent of one used to such parental antics. "Sorry dude, I'm Adam. I live just down the hall." He points in direction that Justin doesn't quite catch and offers his hand.

"Justin. I live. Well. Here." Dear God. "But I'm uh, assuming you. Knew that or something." Jesus this is painful for HIM to listen to. He clears his throat unhappily. "How did you, uh, know that? By the way."

Adam shrugs. "Well I knew another hockey guy lived on this floor 'cuz I talked to the RA. And your room seemed to be at least partially inhabited so...I kinda assumed it was you."

Justin grins excitedly. "Dude! I thought you looked familiar, you were probably on the tour weren't you?"

"June 2nd and 3rd?"

"Yeah! Oh dude that's so cool we live in the same hall! God I was kinda nervous I'd be like, alone here. Not like alone, you know what I mean--without any other hockey players. But you live here too, so we can be like, hockey-hallmate-pals! Or...something." He trails off. Justin has come to terms with the fact that he's an excitable person, but that doesn't make anything he says any less embarrassing. And he can't really judge Adam's reaction to him because he just watches with that same weird upturn of his mouth, like a smile but also a smirk, and he just gets the sinking feeling he's being mocked, and UGH he just hates being mocked. With a sigh, he shifts his weight against the door frame. "Anyways, where did you move in from?"

Adam just keeps that weird half-smile expression and replies with, "Massachusetts ." 

Justin lights up again. "You a Bruins fan?"

His visitor snorts. “Course I am. What Massachusettsian in their right mind isn’t a Bruins fan?” Justin laughs at that. 

“Massachusettsian?” He can barely wrap his tongue around the syllables and it comes out a strangled version of whatever it was Adam even said . “That is quite the mouthful.”

Adam laughs and waves a hand dismissively. “Americans have weird ways of saying things anyways. So do Canadians but I think it’s more straight-forward with you guys.” He leans against the bit of wall separating the door from the rest of the hall and continues smirking. Or whatever mysterious thing he’s doing with his face.

“Oh man, was it the accent that gave me away? Or was it just my looks?” He strikes a pose against the door frame like the fucking MODEL he goddamn is. Justin’s rewarded with a full-bodied laugh from Adam, and...for some reason it feels like that isn’t something gifted to everybody who meets this kid.  
“Totally your looks. Your face is like the model of how every Canadian looks in my mind.” Holding his fingers up like a director framing a shot, he makes a box around Justin’s face. “Fuckin’ majestic. Picture of Canada right there.”

He strikes a few more silly, contrived poses. “Yeah my pale complexion from the lack of sun probably gave the whole thing away.” Adam rolls his eyes in response, and then catch on something over Justin’s shoulder. 

“Dude! You brought a 360?” He follows Adam’s gaze to land on his most prized possession: his Xbox 360.

“Damn fuckin’ right I did. Took me two months to save up for that bitch. No way in hell was I gonna leave it at home.” He moves from the doorway to pat it proudly. “Held up on me for three years.”

The other boy (...man? He’s not sure yet what to call people of his own age) takes a tentative step into the room, with a tentative smile to match. “My family favored Nintendo,” his eyes glance about the room “But I’ve always liked COD. Did you...bring a TV?” Adam’s brows furrow together as his eyes slide back to meet Justin’s.

He’s not entirely sure how to answer that, so he coughs instead. “Well, no I didn’t. My roommate said he’d bring his, but you know. Two weeks without playing my baby is gonna take a toll.” He heaves a (semi) joking sigh. “My life is doomed to be one of misery after all.”

Adam snorts once more. “I can tell that you have truly been cursed by the fates.” He follows that absolutely biting remark with a grin. “I have a TV, by the way.”

Justin’s face lights up. “I happen to have COD.” Reaching behind him and rustling around in a box he pulls out the case to show his newfound friend.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Ill-advised COD all-nighter?”

“Might as well get an early start on procrastinating for the rest of the semester, bro!”

They bump fists, and then they’re off.

\----

They end up falling asleep at 1:30, slumped against each other on Adam’s futon. 

\----

If Justin and Adam meet in an uneventful joining of assholes who like COD and are likely to get several noise complaints from other residents throughout the year--then Ransom and Holster meet in the cacophonous crash of D-men knocking together to create a team. 

\----

From the moment Shitty slid by in a shower of snow with their newly-bestowed nicknames dripping like honey off his tongue, it was meant to fuckin’ be. A match made in Hockey Heaven. For years, the Twin Gods of D-Men had wept and wrung their hands, searching for a pair so seamless and in-sync as to baffle all forwards, and had yet found none. Who would represent them in Hockey Heaven when the time came for the Ultimate Match? And then: Ransom and Holster were thrown together by the fates, and the coaches of the Samwell men’s hockey team.

They are perfect for each other. Er, in a hockey way.

On the ice, they are unstoppable. They fit together like puzzle pieces. They know what the other one is thinking before the other one knows it. They can read each other like no one else can. They claim the title of “Best D-men Duo of the Eastern College Athletic Conference” and there’s no question as to why they shouldn’t.

Everyone can see how well they work together, picking up where the other leaves off. They flow together, filling in the chinks in each other’s armor. Johnson talks about how their characters have chemistry that offsets perfectly. Everyone laughs a little at that, and then thoughts drift.

Chemistry.

\----

And if Ransom and Holster meet in the cacophonus crash of D-men that’s come to be expected of the Terrible Two--then their souls meet in a quiet slotting-together that’s not quite expected, but fits them all the same.

\----

They have exactly one fight. Three years of being inseparable friends, and there has only ever been one fight between them. 

It starts out small, like all fights do, something about not picking up after themselves. There’s the friendly chirping that comes with telling a friend to get their shit together, and everyone thinks it’s fine. Because honestly, why wouldn’t it be?

It escalates though, and it escalates in front of everyone in the Haus. Ransom makes an unfounded quip about a lack of work ethic in the other half of the duo. Holster shoots back about Ransom’s ridiculously over-stressed approach to all homework. Ransom rolls his eyes. “Undiagnosed test anxiety, remember? You’re the one who pinned it on me after all, Mr. Psychiatrist.” 

Holster snorts, unmoving. “Forgot I’m living with someone who calls a biology degree a reason to remain certifiably insane without getting thrown in a psych ward.” Ransom’s eyes cut to his, anger and hurt brimming in them, and Holster realizes he done fucked up. 

Jack perks up to watch from his corner of the kitchen, waiting to step in. For a minute, Ransom seems about ready to launch a full goddamn attack over the Haus table, but then his hackles lower and he looks elsewhere.

Tension rises slowly from there. A few days pass, most spent ignoring the other unless necessary. Johnson mutters something about plot escalation. Quips pass from the duo to other members of the team. Everyone starts glancing nervously at each other when they’re in the same room and Bitty stress-bakes 6 pies in 2 days. 

The climax is reached when no one else happens to be there. Shitty’s out with Lardo, Jack’s probably in the library, Bitty is actually in class for once, and Johnson’s god only knows where. Holster has allergies, and he’s been curled up in his bed the past day, miserable, sniffly, and catching up (see: rewatching) on 30 Rock. 

Ransom, on the other hand, is trying. To FUCKING. STUDY. He was too lazy to go to the library, too proud to give up his turf and show forfeit; so here is is, stuck at a cramped desk and holy fuck if Holster sneezes one more fucking time he swears to god he will kick his ass into next Sunday. Holster chooses that exact time to sneeze. 

Ransom snaps, and so does his pencil. “Oh my god! Shut the fuck up!”

Holster pauses the episode he’s on, and turns to face Ransom. “I’m sorry, what did you just say to me?”

“I said,” Ransom’s jaw is working and (damn does Holster love his jawline) he spits out, “To shut the fuck up.” He cuts his eyes to Holster’s, meeting them and raising a challenge. 

Holster slips off his bed. “You got something to say to me Oluransi?”

“I’ve got fucking plenty of things to say to you, Birkholtz.” Ransom’s not even sure what happened but his chair is knocked over backwards and now he’s standing. “The first one is fuck off.”

“Oh, great opener. A+” Holster claps sarcastically.

Justin's blood boils. He shoves at Adam's shoulders. "Fuck you."

The taller of the two is pushed back a few steps, and there's a moment of silence where he collects his thoughts. And then he lunges. Justin is pushed back against the wall, and they grab at each other's face angrily--pushing and pulling, throwing terribly aimed punches and Justin shoves Adam back hard and then they're actually fighting. 

Adam catches him in the jaw and pain blooms up from his cheek. Justin splits the other's lip and Adam spits blood onto the shitty shag carpet. They're both seeing red and they grab each other once more, twisting and then Justin's pinned against his desk. 

Adam yells something about his stupid fucking lacrosse-bro act and dumbass salmon shorts and Justin yells back about his fucking lazy addictive tendencies and shitty taste in media and then they're kissing and Justin's still not sure what happened or who moved first but all he knows is that he's still pinned against the desk and all he feels is bright, hot anger. 

Their mouths slide together, slick and warm and still the only thing they can see is red but Justin bites at Adam's lip and he can taste blood and it's intoxicating. They've both hooked up with plenty of girls over the course of their college careers (they ARE known as the hockey team's resident lady killers) but nothing has ever felt quite like this before because they fit together so perfectly even while angry. 

Then Adam shifts and Justin lets out an embarrassing sound that is definitely not a squeak and snaps to and "Holy shit, whoa, whoa, whoa." pushes Adam away sharply. 

They both stand there panting for what feels like close to five minutes before Justin can collect his thoughts. "Ok--"

"Dude, Ransom I am so so sorry, we don't have to talk about that, we don't--"

"Holster shut up, Jesus, its fine, it isn't like its your fault or anything--"

"No dude it is! I mean I've just been," Holster runs his hands through his hair and tugs, "Fuck I've been trying to deal with this but I fucked up, and I'm so so fucking sorry and I can understand if you don't wanna like, talk to me anymore or--"

"Whoa, where the fuck d'you get that idea?"

"Aren't you like...grossly repulsed?"

"Fuck, Holster." Ransom feels very, very tired all of a sudden. "I just wanna stop fighting, bro." He rubs at his eyes. “I’m not, like, angry or grossed out or anything like that about...what just happened, but I feel like if we just. You know if we went any farther it would just be a giant cycle of getting angry, getting off, pretending we’re fine, and then getting angry again, and that would just. That would suck major dick, bro.”

The tension leaves Holster’s body, and he heaves a sigh. “Then...I’m sorry. I was a total asshole this week, and I just. Sorry.”

“I’m sorry too. I said really stupid things, and...” Ransom sighs as well. “I really missed you, bro.” He slips down off the desk and holds out his arms. “Hug?”

“Hell yes.” Holster steps forward with a grin and envelops the smaller man in a hug, because he’s a goddamn giant. 

“But about makeout sesh though....” Ransom feels Holster tense up in his arms.

“Uh...we don’t have to talk about that. Like ever.”

Ransom snorts. “More like we should do that again, because damn.”

He can practically feel Holster turning red. “Uh....what.”

“Dude. Dude, dude, dude, you’re like. Shit.” What the fuck why was this so hard to get out????? “Look bro, you like. Lucked out in the gene pool. You’re. Well, you’re hot as shit ok? And like. I’m not...I...I don’t know what I am but I know that whatever I am, I am like, totally okay with doing shit like making out with you. And other shit. Shit that bros don’t normally do together. I’m cool with that.”

“So basically you’re saying you’re...cool with me kissing you.”

“Yes. Yes I’m cool with that.”

“So then if I did this it’d be ok?” And then Holster leans in again and kisses Ransom and...the world is perfect.

\----

Jack comes home later that day to find Bitty in the kitchen with the dynamic duo, singing along to some song about being single or whatever. He pops his head in with a stern, “You two okay?”

They laugh and share a look that Jack loses the significance of. “Yes Captain, we’re cool.” Ransom loops an arm around Holster’s shoulder and mockingly salutes his fellow Canadian.

Jack rolls his eyes with a, “Glad you worked it out. For the sake of the team.” Honestly he just didn’t want to have to eat another Bitty-stress pie. They’d barely made it through three and Jack hates stress pies. He loves Bitty’s pies, but he hates stress pies.

Stress pies suck ass.

Johnson rolls in an hour or so later, and Jack asks where he was all day. He says something about feeling the plot moving forward and that he thought it would be best if he cleared out for a few hours. Jack laughs. That Johnson.

\----

Ok, so maybe it wasn’t quite as “quiet” a slotting-together as it should have been. But now the Twin Gods of D-Men won’t have to worry about losing their best candidates for the Ultimate Match, eh?

**Author's Note:**

> Phew! Sorry for the late post, I've had issues with internet connection all day >:(
> 
> I had a lot of fun writing this, and really really hope you enjoyed it!! It ended up being shorter than I wanted it to, so there miiiiiight be a second chapter!! I was a wimp and reallllly skimmed over them coming to terms with their attraction for their best friend, so...sighs! Anyways, happy happy holidays!! I hope you liked it D:
> 
> Title from [Islands](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PElhV8z7I60) by The xx.


End file.
